Xander thinks they might be in Canada. Which is actually kinda cool, considering that they did it without passports or ID or anything remotely like... anything.
But then, nobody questions wolves crossing borders. Not even really big ones. Probably especially not really big ones.
It's one of those thoughts he's reasonably sure would've been easier to have and/or just plain different were he still entirely human.
As it is, though... things slip.
Change the way he still has to every moon-time.
Oz has trained him to change at will over the past year, but the moon still exerts a pull.
Xander isn't sure he wants that to change, anyway. It's just another way of never being alone.
A sister for their pack.
Most full moons Xander runs alone, Oz choosing to stay more human than he is at any other point during the month, holed up in whichever of their dens is closest. He paints on the walls. Plays the guitar.
Writes letters for Xander to take in to the nearest town to be mailed, whenever they get around to it.
Xander does his best to keep the envelopes clean, but, well.
Everyone they write to knows the truth of things, anyway.
They keep post office boxes in little towns along the Northwest coast. Xander's always the one who reminds Oz that they need to be checked, and always the one who does the checking.
Oz has pretty much absented himself from the human side of things recently, which is sad, but not unexpected.
If there was ever anyone in Xander's life who disproved the whole social animal thing, it was Oz. Give him a mate and a den and he's a happy little wolfman.
Which only doesn't make sense when Xander tries to think logically -- wolf + man should equal ubersocial creature, right? No one's ever paid Xander to think, though, so...
In another world, it would be Willow here instead of himself.
She would have beautiful fur, soft and red.
She would be the one Oz curled around in the glare of daylight, and she would've probably figured out the whole control thing immediately. Willow's brilliance like something unearthly.
Love for her the one common bond he and Oz have never called on to cement their relationship.
Some things are better left.
Misses her maybe more than anyone else, which probably has a lot to do with the way Willow pretty much defined his human existence.
Anya is dating a Watcher named Evelyn.
Giles has taken to going on weirdly vision quest-like things in the desert that Xander can just barely remember the feel of. Heat no longer seems like something natural, or remotely related to himself.
Tara writes long, cheerful letters full of worries about being too forward that make Xander smile and Oz look thoughtful.
Better left, yeah.
Xander never shows him those letters unless he asks.
Neither Buffy nor Willow have written yet, but Tara says they will.
Xander is idly considering Christmas cards when Oz takes off east in a sudden burst of speed. Catches the scent himself a heartbeat later -- a place of men -- and wonders if this is...
If this is when he'll actually have to fight Oz.
Closer, though, and the scent stabilizes into Deserted.
It's a shack, just a sprawl of weathered wood in the middle of nowhere.
Oz shifts just enough to speak while they piss on it.
"Didn't want to do the snow-fort thing tonight."
Xander butts the furred hand and licks his thanks and understanding.
Maybe there'll be paper.
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